Success is walking from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm. - Winston Churchill

Four weeks remained until the village quest deadline ran out. Looking through his quest log Hank felt the pressure. Nothing he’d read gave any indication as to how such a quest was completed. Notes for the first part of the quest indicated towns required food, water, work and building materials. He had everything. It hadn’t completed.

“I don’t get it,” he confided to Jamie. “We brought that wood down from upstream. Still nothing. Perhaps I have to build something, a house maybe. Well, cabin might be more accurate.”

“You don’t have enough wood for either.” Jamie responded. “We don’t have the labour or axes to pull enough wood out of the upstream forests. It’s why my people don’t bother with buildings. Materials are hard to come by and require effort.”

“Making caravans doesn’t require materials.” Hank scoffed before sighing and continuing. “Hut then. Has to be something. I’ve been through Catter’s book. Nothing matches what we have tools or timber for. I’ll have to make do.”

Jamie shook his head muttering something in a language nobody recognised. Hank reflected to himself that he didn’t know why Jamie was still with them. He’d always intimated that he would remain until Hank had a village. Hank wasn’t going to complain, he enjoyed the man’s company and he had a house to build.

Dawn three weeks later, found Hank watching the sunrise. Early red rays reflected off the far canyon walls, imparting a beautiful, surreal light. It didn’t bring him peace. Weeks of back-breaking labour resulting in little progress on the hut. Only eight days remained.

Deep in thought, looking for solutions, he missed the significance of a visit from Sabine. She came with a peace offering of sorts. She looked very uncomfortable, red in the face, mumbling something in Compidg as she handed over a map before dumping an assortment of coins and small gems into Hank’s other hand. She cleared her throat. “Your share from the bandit camp. I gave Jamie his share too.” She darted off, leaving Hank with a confused look on his face.

In later years Hank would remember this olive branch with a smile. He understood the price she paid only with hindsight. The same hindsight that eventually allowed him an understanding of her people. Not those she was related to but those her heart chose. Those who called themselves the hammer brethren.

Still, as he stared at the map and coins, Hank’s anger with Gruffly and his people remained. A certain AI, with a stupid village time limit, also earned some anger. With a sigh he went over his quest requirements. By Hank’s reckoning he only had until the twenty-first of Hekima to build his village, eight days time. Without the cooperation of the wee people, he wasn’t sure how to get it done.

“I need more time.” Ranting at the heavens earned him zero answers and a strange look as Ninyette ran up to him. She rattled off something in an urgent tone, mixing common words for wind, rain and smell with her own patois. Confusing an already distracted Hank. Rather than guessing, he dragged her off to Jamie.

“She says that there is a big storm coming. She can smell it on the wind.” Jamie translated her urgent speech.

“How big’s big?” Jamie responded himself.

After a short period of backwards and forwards conversation Jamie paraphrased her long and drawn out response. “Well, according to her it smells like it will be violent and last a while.”

“Smells?” Hank asked.

“Yes,” Jamie turned resuming his interrupted conversation with Ninyette. “She says it’s something her family’s known for. They always know when a storm is coming. They smell the moisture in the air or something like that. It stopped making sense after she claimed she knew it’s intent. Still, in your place, I would trust the Ore Cane. They come from the high plateau. Weather there is nothing to ignore.”

“Is it bad there?” Hank enquired.

“Let’s just say, blizzards are baby snow storms in the Hoëvelde.” Jamie shuddered. “From experience I can tell you, any time an Ore Cane tells you a storm will be bad. Believe them.”

“Oh, goody.” Hank muttered.

The valley held no shelter. Well, the far side of the Tabor looked promising, but they hadn’t found a crossing yet. The tents were it. So everyone rushed checking tents, pegs and ropes. Ninyette waved wildly at Ruadh rattling off a string of instructions unintelligible to Hank but in short order the large man had the children stringing double ropes and placing large rocks atop tent pegs, something everyone else regarded as just a little excessive.

By mid morning thick black cumulous clouds covered the horizon. Just before midday, great sheets of lightning, booming thunder and driving rain erupted into the valley. Hank had never seen the like. Rain drops the size of his thumb hurt as they hit instantly soaking him through to the skin.

Everyone retreated to their tents. The wee people to the tent lent by Hank. The Ore Cane to the large tent recovered from their destroyed camp. Ruadh, Ninyette and the ten rescued children all used it. Hank retreated into Jamie’s tent. They had been sharing ever since Hank’s tent went to the wee people who had lost theirs in the spider attack.

Into the afternoon the rain intensified, the winds rose and lightning crashed ever closer. Hank endeavoured to catch up on some reading. He couldn’t afford to skimp on the resulting knowledge. ‘Knowledge is power’, seemed to be a maxim ingrained in the fabric of Indlu. Knowledge drove everything, including the interface. He managed ten pages into ‘Prospecting made easy’ before poor light and noise generated by the violence of the storm made it impossible to continue. He’d never experienced a storm as violent.

Jamie distracted him with valued conversation.

Jamie needed to head south. He needed to set tribe things in order. He missed his wife and children. Hank’s curiosity caught the reference to tribal matters, but Jamie, a typical Wanderer, was tightlipped about all internal matters. The sole detail divulged being his tribe’s current employment required their involvement in discussions between the courts of Miylan and Fujiama. The Miylaneese court spent most of the year in Fort William. It was really only the Perison tournaments that drew the court north. Consequently, he would aim to meet his people in Perison and almost immediately press south.

“Since you’re going through Perison, I’m hoping you would deliver some letters for me. Also, a few items need picking up.” Hank wasn’t sure if Jamie would return. He didn’t have many friends, so he didn’t want to push one of the few. Hank opened his mouth to ask. He closed it without question hoping his delivery request would prompt Jamie’s return.

Hanks thoughts turned to money. He didn’t have much, however it was evident he needed a number of things here on the edge of the great northern forest. He continued, albeit in a different direction. “I was going to ask whomever the wee people send south to collect the clan, to retrieve my things also. But my trust is a little lacking at the moment.” He pulled out the coins and gems given to him by Sabine. “Please, can you get all this changed to Suiden. Hopefully, it will help pay Mr Joshotaiyo and the others.”

“Sir,” Jamie said.

“Huh?” Confusion crossed Hank’s face.

“Sir Joshotaiyo.” Jamies sighed in exasperation. “Titles matter.”

“Oh. You know him?” Hank asked.

“I know of him. He was a well renown knight a long time ago. A time when being knighted meant something. Won a lot of tournaments. Though he was a bit of a mystery. Massive. Everyone says he was huge, but nobody knew anything about him. Never took his helmet off, appeared from nowhere, disappeared in the night, seemed intimate with the emperor. That sort of thing. Quite the scandal.” Jamie said.

Hank shook his head. He didn’t understand why any of those things would be a scandal. “Anyway, I’ll put two small gems into his letter, he should know the best people to get the value for them. If you can make sure you find out what you can about the gems. The one I showed to everyone will have to go with the wee people, I suppose. They will need it to convince their people.” Hank grimaced.

“If Sir Joshotaiyo asks you for more money, give him whatever you can from the sale of these.” He handed over the other three gems he had found. All of them much bigger than the wee people had seen. “The large one is actually the one I found first. Not the other I showed everyone.”

Jamie’s eyebrow rose in question as he looked at the three gems.

Jamie fiddled around not quite looking at the man. “Yes I know that they were looking for more. I would have showed them too but that whole thing with the voting came up and I’ve been too angry to talk to them about it.”

Jamie’s eyebrow didn’t lower. “You know they have been looking to prove that gem wasn’t a once off?” Hank nodded as Jamie continued. “And you know that they would have valued the mine with any of those other gems?”

Hank opened his mouth to answer, he shut it not having a good response. He opened it again and did the same as Jamie looked at him intently. He really didn’t like having his ethics questioned by friends. He sighed. “Your right it wasn’t right and I kept telling myself that I should reconcile. Almost did too.”

“And what stopped you?” Jamie asked.

Hank pointed at one of the small gems Sabine had given him. “That uncut one looks the same as ones I found. I can’t be sure but I also can’t pull out that they found gems of their own and haven’t told me.”

This time both of Jamie’s eyebrows rose. “Not a lot of trust there. Either side if that’s the case.” He sighed “You’re going to have to resolve this if you want them to help you found a town.”

Hank sighed, retreating into his thoughts as the wind picked up further, the tent vibrating violently.

Hank was brought out of his introspection by a voice outside rising above the storm’s noise. Even though it was madness, he stuck his head outside. Hank was immediately struck in the face by a wall of mostly frozen slush. Squinting, he saw the wee people’s tent had collapsed. Without thinking, he dashed out into the storm.

The wind pushed him past Gruffly and Marko, both struggling to right the tent poles. Glancing down he noticed Sabine unconscious on the ground exposed to the elements. Hank looked around frantically for Fritz. Nothing. Picking Sabine up, he struggled back to Jamie’s tent.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow and with a hint of humour spoke. “You’re always rescuing the ladies, aren’t you?”

“Ha.” The laughter didn’t reach Hank’s eyes. “Their tent’s collapsed and Fritz’s gone.”

“Marko and Gruffly?” Jamie asked.

“Idiots, they’re trying to put the tent up again. I mean in this storm. Anyway, keep an eye on Sabine, I’ll look for Fritz.” Hank answered.

“Don’t bring him here, there’s only room for three.” Jamie complained.

Hank smirked his own joke creeping out. “They’re only big enough to be counted as halves. He’ll fit.”

“Not funny.” Jamie’s smile giving lie to the statement. He continued, “I was being serious.”

Hank stepped back out into the storm. It had worsened since rescuing Sabine. He struggled to move without being blown across the landscape. He stumbled towards Marko and Gruffly, who were now yelling at each other over the wind. Still no sign of Fritz. He fought his way over to Gruffly’s side.

The wind was loud enough he had to scream to be heard. “Leave the tent. Get into the large one with Ninyette, Ruadh and the kids.” Naturally, Gruffly wanted to argue, but Hank ignored him. “Where’s Fritz?”

For a moment Gruffly looked perplexed, then he pointed back at the collapsed tent and shrugged his shoulders.

“Idiot munchkin.” Hank mumbled the insult. Naturally, the wind pulled the words away from Gruffly’s hearing.

Hank crouching down, heaving himself under the collapsed tent’s edge. Once his head was under the tent, three things struck. Firstly, a realisation that it was pitch black so he couldn’t see a thing. Second, discovering the only solid object in the tent, with your head, isn’t a helpful method of exploration. Which brought the third item painfully to the front of his mind. He wasn’t sure he would find Fritz even if mister short and silent was in the stupid thing.

A few minutes of searching suggested Fritz wasn’t there. It also convinced him that blindly crashing into sharp objects under a collapsed tent wouldn’t ever appear on his list of things to do again. He broke out of the tent. It really did feel like making a break for freedom. But he was back to the noise and violence of the storm.

The temperature continued dropping. Cold rain no longer fell, but rather sleet, like tiny glass shards, caming down in lashes, stinging all exposed skin and anything else not covered in leather. To make any headway Hank and to travel almost parallel to the ground, still the storm buffeted Hank hither and yon, making walking almost impossible. Still he pushed on, finally fighting his way back into Jamie’s tent.

The wind shrieked through the ropes of the tent as it swayed and shook in the tempest’s violence. Jamie eyed the walls, attentive to the strain on the ropes and pegs. Hank turned to Sabine, unconscious on the floor of the tent. “She needs to wake up. Fritz is lost, and she always knows where he is.” Jamie had no response. Hank grunted and continued, “time to play doctor again.”

He checked her carefully. He found a slight cut towards the top of her head on her left side. “Nothing serious,” he concluded. But Hank’s medical knowledge was limited to what he’d picked up during his travels or in his various books. None of which covered bumps to the head. What Hank did know was, courtesans used pungent odours to wake people who fainted. A head scratcher as he didn’t have anything suitable. He wasn’t used to fainting ladies. His dad used to douse Hank with a bucket of water. Wouldn’t happen in this tent. Firstly, they didn’t have a bucket. Secondly, Jamie was fastidiously neat. Water inside? Never. Besides, she seemed wet enough.

“Not sure how to wake her up, but I need to check on the old couple.” Jamie grunted in response to his use of their pet name for Gruffly and Marko. He braced himself, ducking out into the storm. It seemed more ferocious to Hank, if that was possible. Struggling through the sleet, he couldn’t find them near their collapsed tent, so he pushed on to the Ore Cane tent.

Calm descended as he entered. The Ore Cane deserved their reputation for dealing with storms. Little of the noise from outside carried in and the tent barely moved in the wind. Everything was warm and peaceful. A subdued Marko stood off to the side, dripping water. Ninyette stared daggers at him as the children sat behind her. No Ruadh.

“Where’s Ruadh Ninyette?” Hank asked. She looked at him blankly for a second, so he repeated. “Ruadh?”